Freedom
by Myth and Legend
Summary: How can Kathryn Janeway recover her confidence after assimilation with the Borg in Unimatrix Zero, and who is there to truly help her find freedom? JC


_Freedom_

_For Tammy_

She didn't even need to open her eyes to know that she was safe. The sterile perfume of sickbay had never smelled so sweet, and the gentle chime of medical instruments seemed strangely reassuring as the Doctor went about his work, humming in perfect tone. On a normal day it would have set her nerves on edge, but now it was music to her ears.

The pain was less pleasant. The steady stinging seemed to bite through flesh and bone, gnawing at her with incessant determination. She tried to ignore it, to push it aside as insignificant, but it remained. Well, what did she expect? Recovering from assimilation would never be painless.

Kathryn Janeway took a deep breath, relishing the moment. There was no emotion but relief. A horrifying prospect had been faced and overcome, and she took the opportunity to enjoy a few seconds of peace that soothed her frayed nerves.

Within an instant the calm became tainted as worry took root, demanding answers to the questions she did not want to ask. Not yet. She knew that as soon as she opened her eyes she would be the captain again: in command and in control. This moment was hers. She was just Kathryn.

There were times on that Cube she had feared that she would never be "just Kathryn" again.

Bravely she faced her memories of the past hours and days, knowing that to ignore them would be nothing short of foolish. Some parts were already suppressed and locked away in her subconscious. Others were not so blissfully concealed from her.

The Doctor's precautions against full integration into the hive mind had been successful, but the voices had still been there: faint, tempting whispers. They had promised her immortality and perfection. When these weak vows failed to sway her they had begun to reach inside her mind, to pluck from her memories her deepest wishes.

What had they offered? Freedom. Not from an oppressive leadership. The Borg could hardly claim to be innocent of that.

No, they had offered her freedom from protocol.

No rules, no guidelines, and nothing to stop her from finding what she desired and taking it. Just like that.

But they had failed. Their undoing had been in the nature of their tempting covenant. There was only one reason she longed to turn her back on protocol, and succumbing to the Borg would close the door on that forever.

The Borg wanted nothing but perfection. There was no room for anything as human as passion - as mortal as love.

They hadn't understood her, and she had made her escape. Perhaps that was part of why Tuvok, logical as only a Vulcan could be, had been the first to succumb. What could be more tempting to a Vulcan than an impassive existence? No emotions to keep under control, and no dark, tumultuous feelings to deal with.

With an involuntary shudder she opened her eyes, immersing herself in the reality of Voyager. Her captain's mask slipped into place with ease: a perfect fit across her features. Was it her imagination or did her shoulders feel heavier - more burdened?

'Ah, Captain. Back in the land of the living I see.' The Doctor took out his medical tricorder and moved it steadily over her prone frame. 'How do you feel?'

She levelled a cool gaze in his direction, not bothering to speak.

The Doctor grimaced at her behaviour. 'I'm a doctor, Captain, not a mind reader. Where does it hurt the most?'

She tried to turn her head, but her muscles and nerves protested sharply, bringing the movement to an abrupt halt. 'Everything hurts, Doctor, but I can't say I expected otherwise.' She waved away his concern with a twitch of her fingers, licking her lips to moisten the skin. 'What about Tuvok and B'Elanna?'

'Lieutenant Torres is recovering well. I was able to remove the majority of her implants, and she's resting. Tuvok's convalescence will take a little longer, but he will be back on his feet soon enough.' The Doctor looked smug. 'I doubt a less experienced medical officer could give your crew such a glowing prognosis after assimilation.'

Kathryn didn't bother to agree, but she did manage a weak smile of acknowledgement. This was hardly the first time that the EMH had made miracles seem mundane. Still, he didn't need to be told. He knew well enough just how competent he was.

'Unfortunately your implants have not been so successfully removed.' The Doctor's face became serious and he concentrated his scans around her torso and face. 'I was able to extract most of the more systemic implants, but…' He hesitated, as though wary of her possible response to his news.

'Say it,' she urged, unconsciously bracing herself for the worst. Her two syllables sounded curt and clipped, but the tremble in her voice was obvious to her ears. It wasn't fear, she reassured herself firmly. Fear was a luxury that she could not afford. There was no place for such weakness on a starship.

'Your assimilation appeared to be particularly thorough. Removing the deeper implants has left you much weaker than B'Elanna. I'm afraid some of the more superficial components will need to wait before being removed.'

She didn't know what to say. The Borg Queen's mocking words about human vanity rang true, but she smothered her discomfort. After all, she rarely took great pride in her appearance. 'There won't be any permanent damage?'

The Doctor paused again. 'Physically you should recover fully and live a normal life. In fact, the nanoprobes may have done some of your biological systems a favour. Of course there is always the possibility of some of your implants reactivating, but it's unlikely. Mental recovery is another matter. With no councillor it is hard to predict how you and the rest of the away team will react emotionally.'

'We'll manage, Doctor.' She flexed the muscles in her hand, feeling the aching subside a little. Finally she was able to bend her elbow and lift her hand to her face. Her skin felt warm and soft, but as she let her fingers drift upwards she felt a ridge of cool metal. It curved around the outer corner of her right eye and into her hairline.

'I took the liberty of removing the larger devices attached to your skull at the same time as removing your cerebral implants. All that is left is one or two components and some bruising.' The Doctor's expression was completely clear of guile as he continued to speak. 'I know how important it is for crew to see you as "normal" as possible.'

Janeway looked at him sharply. She knew the Doctor well, and she had no doubt that he had swiftly stimulated her hair growth for her own well-being, as well as the crew's. With a faint smile she had to acknowledge that the EMH had become a master at telling his captain what she wanted to hear, while doing what had to be done.

'Thank you, Doctor.' She tried to sit up and present a more commanding sight, but before she had lifted her torso more than an inch from the biobed her back spasmed in pain. Her voice hitched in her throat, and she barely managed to stop herself from crying out as every nerve was set aflame.

'Please, Captain!' The Doctor resettled her, adjusting the tilt of the biobed to a gentle incline. 'I realise that you are used to ignoring your body's demands, but you can't deny it its needs this time. Complete rest for at least the next forty-eight hours.' He held up a hand to stem her objections. 'I'm sorry, Captain. Doctor's orders.' He shot a meaningful glance in her direction. 'Resistance is futile.'

With a sigh of resignation she leant back on the bed and looked to her right where B'Elanna and Tuvok lay. Her chief engineer seemed to be resting peacefully, her hands pillowing her head like a child pretending to sleep. Her legs were curled up against her chest, and Kathryn couldn't help but think how young the half-Klingon looked. Her skin had returned to a healthy complexion. If she hadn't seen it herself she wouldn't have believed that B'Elanna had ever been assimilated.

Tuvok was a different matter. His posture was stiff and corpse-like. Of course that was probably how Vulcan's slept anyway, but it did not comfort her to see him so still. The slot for his cortical node was still exposed, and she found herself biting her lip in worry for her old friend. Had it been worth it? Did she really have to put them through all of that pain and suffering? On a higher level she could see the benefits were numerous, but lying here with two members of her crew so obviously in pain she found it hard to visualise what the point of it had been.

Her fingers idly explored her skin for the mechanical interruptions of the implants. Her left ear was cradled by a lumpy curve, and as she moved down the column of her neck she could feel the frequent streaks of metal across her flesh.

With great care she tipped her head down and glared at the starbust implant that peeked from the neck of her medical robe. For a moment she considered lifting the collar to get a better look, but common sense told her that it would offer little reassurance. She could already feel the cool metal that had been incorporated into her breast, and another seemed to pinch the skin on her hip.

She tried to think of it with professional distance, but failed. The truth was that she was appalled. She had long ago been aware that the Borg viewed the organic tissue as a mere vessel for the perfect rhythm of machinery. They violated the flesh to bestow their ideals on their unwilling captives, and it went all the way to the core.

The urge to pick them from her skin was strong. Like a scab on a wound their texture and sensation both horrified and fascinated her, and she found herself tracing their outlines obsessively. The Doctor seemed to notice her preoccupation and gently took hold of her wrist, placing it at her side. 'As soon as I feel you're strong enough I will begin to remove the implants. For now, I'm going to sedate you.'

She wanted to object, but when he continued she could see his logic. 'Rest will help you recover. If you sleep now I will let you meet with the commander for a full report when you awaken.' He gently administered the hypospray, and as she fell into the chemically-induced slumber she heard the Doctor add: 'It'll do him as much good as it will you.'

* * *

Chakotay rubbed a hand over his face as he sat in the captain's Ready Room, trying to coordinate the repairs. He sat on the couch rather than at her desk. He had tried, but somehow sitting there for more than a few minutes made him deeply uncomfortable. It was too personal. This room, like this ship, had been deeply ingrained with Kathryn's presence. When she was gone there seemed to be an expectancy emanating from the very bulkheads. Voyager was confident of her return, even if he did not.

Kathryn's plan had worked better than he had ever imagined. As time progressed his certainty of failure had intensified, but nothing had prepared him from that instant of horror when the Borg Cube had exploded. His doubts had plagued him every moment of the mission. Would she return to them? Would she be able to assume her position on the Bridge and at his side? When the geometrical ship had ruptured into nothing but fragments he had felt the physical wound of grief. For just one heartbeat he had believed she was dead. The relief when Harry had said they were safely aboard Voyager had been a sweet taste on his tongue, and it lingered even now.

He inhaled deeply, taking in the faint aroma of coffee that always lingered in her Ready Room. The ship shuddered slightly as an adjustment was made to the inertial dampeners, and the rattle of china caught his attention. Kathryn's favourite cup was perched on the edge of her desk, almost shaken loose by their altercation with the Borg Cube.

Muscles protested stiffly as he got to his feet and rescued the cup from its imminent demise. The crockery was fragile in his grasp as he carefully set it further onto her desk. It was a comforting object of delicate china, and he could see why Kathryn loved it so. In a world where she had to be military and strong it was one small sign that she was still feminine, and occasionally she was as fragile as the cup she treasured so much.

Once or twice before he had noticed that deeply buried delicacy within her, but never had it hit him as strongly as it had on the Bridge before she had beamed across to the Cube.

The grasp of her hand around his had been firm and confident but at the same time intimate, as though it was meant only for him. That gesture of affectionate reassurance alone had been enough to strengthen his concern. Kathryn had always been tactile; it was her way of connecting with the crew, but never had she touched him so openly on the Bridge.

He stared unseeingly at the Padd still in his hand, scrolling down the page without seeing the figures and estimates that drifted past on the small screen.

Kathryn's gesture hadn't been discreet or fleeting. Every confidence and every misgiving had been encapsulated in that touch, and he had feared more than anything that he would never have a chance to feel her touch again. The same concern had plagued her. She was an expert at hiding her anxiety, but not from him.

His grasp had been just as strong, but he knew there was an element of desperation in it. He could remember staring at their linked hands for a moment before lifting his gaze to hers. In her eyes had been something that fought off the chill of terror, and gave him the first tatters of hope.

Within her eyes had been a bittersweet regret.

He daren't guess why that had been what he had seen. All he had been able to do was have faith that she would survive to explain it to him.

With a sigh Chakotay threw the Padd aside, not caring that it clattered loudly on the table as he ran his fingers through his hair. All guise of work was lost as he paced restlessly, trying to stop his thoughts from chasing one another in circles.

His feet took him once again to the computer terminal, and his forefinger hovered over the button that would call the Doctor's emergency medical channel. It was tempting, but he had already called the EMH twice in the past thirty minutes. The Doctor's patience, notoriously thin at the best of the times, had not held under Chakotay's repeated demands for updates on the condition of the away team.

With a heavy sigh he returned to the couch and retrieved the Padd. He was of no good to Kathryn like this. She wouldn't appreciate his distress. However if he could tell her that Voyager could achieve warp five when she awoke then she'd have the reassurance she needed, and he would have made her smile.

Reaching out for his mug of tea he grimaced as the liquid touched his lips. It had cooled long ago, but he drank it anyway, too weary to order another beverage.

He had thought he would feel better once the away team were back on the ship, but the anxious knots in his stomach only tightened. The Doctor's work was delicate, and only time would tell how successful the process had been. He knew that they were in as much danger now as they had been on the Borg Cube.

He had faith in the EMH's abilities, but in the deepest corners of his heart he wondered how much of a person could remain after assimilation. The machinations of the Borg cut deep, tapping into nerves and memories alike. Assimilation was more than the physical encapsulation of the body; it was the enslavement of the soul. Could anyone come back from that unchanged?

Instantly he felt guilty for even thinking it. When she had appeared in Sickbay, no more than a hologram of light and air, her strength had still been like a physical blow. No matter how many implants mutilated her flesh she was still Kathryn.

She managed to stand on that Bridge day after day and lead them all without showing a flicker of doubt. She had always been resolved, and seeing her had given the crew strength. She was more than a captain. The crew pushed themselves farther than ever before under her command. She had inspired them, and still did.

Chakotay stopped, realising it sounded as though he was drafting a eulogy. His hands trembled, and his throat went dry at the thought. He had to see her safe on Voyager for himself, he realised. He had to know that he would never be standing by her coffin, saying his final goodbyes to a woman he hadn't stopped loving in all these years.

He didn't bother to call the Doctor. To do so would only give the hologram the chance to snipe at him for the third time in an hour. Instead he moved with determined purpose. The Ready Room doors hissed open and he noticed a certain stiffening of the Bridge crew. Despite their escape there was no sign of peace on their faces. Each expression was pale with concern and pinched with stress and exhaustion.

Repairs were being conducted as swiftly as possible, and Chakotay had to admit that his supervision was barely needed. Even with their chief engineer in sickbay, B'Elanna's training had carried them through. There wasn't an engineer onboard that didn't know their role.

'Mr Paris, you have the Bridge,' Chakotay said, barely giving the helmsman a chance to respond before he departed, intent on his destination.

His long stride ate up the deck as he hurried to the turbo-lift, barely looking left or right for fear that something would detain him.

'Deck five.'

With a beep of acknowledgement the descent began, leaving Chakotay to fidget impatiently. His certainty was already fading as doubts crowded in. Perhaps it would be better to wait until she was fully recovered? Dereliction of duty was hardly Starfleet behaviour. A small, wry smile curved his lips. He wasn't exactly Starfleet material, not anymore.

His empty hands were clasped behind his back, and he winced as he realised he should have at least brought a Padd. Not that the ruse of bringing the Doctor a report would have fooled the hologram for a moment. The Doctor's perception could not be faulted, and Chakotay knew that his behaviour would be as transparent as glass to the EMH.

The hissing fall of the turbo-lift came to a halt and the doors opened obligingly. Now his pace was slower, more peaceful and centred. He had always noticed the change in atmosphere between decks. The Bridge was hectic and intense. People ran or strode: they did not amble. Down here they almost tiptoed.

Sickbay was naturally calm. It was a place of rest and recuperation; of life and death. The Doctor was the best they could hope for, but even the passing of a handful of lives had made the deck a place of church-like peace. It was as though the crew acknowledged that, in some unspoken way, any other behaviour would be sacrilegious.

Of course, sometimes that calm was shattered by a large number of casualties, but it always returned like a wave to wash the frantic writing from the sand.

Sickbay was lit by harsh fluorescent light, as always. There were no shadows or lies in this small room, and the Doctor saw every member of the crew shorn of their daily vanities.

The hologram had his back turned as he worked on Tuvok, gently applying medical instruments to the Vulcan's brow. He hummed quietly, obviously content to be doing what he was programmed to achieve.

'Commander, what a surprise.' The Doctor's tone was heavy with sarcasm as he turned around to face the man who currently ran the ship. 'I must say I'm impressed. You lasted ten minutes longer than I thought you would.'

Chakotay ducked his head slightly in acknowledgement of his behaviour, but shook it aside. 'How are they?'

'Recovering. I believe Lieutenant Torres will be the first back to duty. Mr Tuvok may be a little longer to be back on his feet.'

'And the captain?' Chakotay cleared his throat, wincing at the uncertainty in his tone.

If the Doctor noticed he didn't comment as he walked to Kathryn's side. 'It's worse than it looks, Commander. Almost all of her systemic implants have been removed. I just need her to regain some strength before I can continue with the more superficial devices. Of course, if she took better care of herself on a day by day basis….' He didn't bother to finish. It was a familiar complaint, and both Chakotay and the Doctor knew that it fell on deaf ears.

'She should be awake in an hour or two,' the Doctor said quietly, his tone softening as he examined Chakotay more closely.

A sound of complaint from B'Elanna spurred the Doctor into action, and Chakotay walked closer to the captain's side as the EMH busied himself with the lieutenant. He watched for a moment, noticing the confusion and pain on B'Elanna's face. It was a frightening sight to see her brave features so distorted by her discomfort, and he looked away, turning his attention instead to the woman who lay so still in front of him.

She was beautiful. He knew she would scoff at that assessment, but even with the metal implants still marring her skin she was human. Seven often appeared cold and distant, and her Borg implants amplified that. Kathryn was another matter. Even in slumber she seemed to radiate strength and passion.

Without thinking he reached out and touched the implant at the corner of her eye. He hesitated a hair's breadth from the surface, afraid it would hurt her, but when his fingers touched the cool metal she didn't even stir. He traced the rough ridges lightly, fascinated by the sensation of it.

He had imagined them to look ugly, and in a way they were. The darker metal stained her pale skin: an outward sign of the power of machine versus flesh, but she would wear them like medals, even if only for a day or so. Other women were distressed by their scars, however small, but Kathryn had a tendency towards pride. It was visible proof of what she had been through, and while she might loathe them in privacy, in public she'd tilt her chin and dare others to comment.

Smiling sadly at the thought he let his gaze drift down her body. The blue medical robes were not meant to be attractive, but Chakotay had always wondered why they stopped mid-thigh. The temperature of the room meant that she didn't need a blanket, and her legs were stretched out straight.

There were hardly any implants along her limbs, but one on her ankle wove an intricate pattern across the top of her foot. It was silent and inactive, and Chakotay wondered what he had expected. The Borg were like a nightmare, summoned from the darkest recesses of the human imagination. Even now the benign implants were vaguely threatening.

Then he saw something that made him smile properly for the first time since before they had come across the Borg. Her toenails were painted dark red.

It was something so human that the final vestiges of his fear were soothed away. No matter how the Borg had insinuated her flesh and tormented her mind, that one faint touch of humanity had remained.

Ever so carefully he took her hand in his and stroked his thumb across her skin. He knew he should get back to duty and ensure that her ship was in the best possible shape when she awoke, but he couldn't bring himself to move. Not just yet.

* * *

Wakefulness came upon her more gently this time, and the stabbing gnaw of pain had faded to quiet drone of sensation in every joint and bone. Still, Kathryn Janeway was no fool, and her first movement was painstakingly slow and tender. She blinked.

When no searing punishment charged along her nerves she turned her head. Tom Paris was leaning over B'Elanna, clutching her hand in his with a tight desperation. They were talking quietly, and one look at the intimacy of the pair spoke volumes of their relief and unspoken fears. The mission was a success, but all that mattered was that they were together again.

Kathryn felt a stab of envy and shifted quietly, trying to move out of earshot of their words. Her body refused, and she felt a jolt of surprise as one phrase reached her.

'He's been at her side for hours. He only left because the Doctor insisted he get some rest.' B'Elanna's voice was quiet. The purr of the vocal sub-processor had vanished with the Doctor's attentions, although she did sound a little hoarse.

Janeway froze, feeling like an unwilling voyeur as Tom bent to kiss the young woman's ridged forehead. 'They're not lucky like you and me.'

'They could be. I saw Chakotay's face, Tom, and I've seen the way she looks at him,' B'Elanna stated, her voice strong with the passion of her convictions. 'They could be far luckier than us if they just took the chance.'

Kathryn's heart fluttered in her chest, and she felt the tickle of butterflies in her stomach. She couldn't pretend that she didn't know what Tom and B'Elanna were talking about, nor could she ignore the tinge of sadness in their voices. Discretion was impossible in such a close community, and she'd known long ago that most of the crew watched her and Chakotay with interest. Rumours were rife, but the general conclusion was that although they could, neither she nor the commander had crossed the line of protocol to make a relationship.

At first she'd thought this would garner the respect of the crew. She had hoped that by her example they would follow the rules more closely and not let the distance from Starfleet affect their morals.

Instead there was a pervading sense of sympathy, as though the crew understood and pitied the position she and Chakotay were in. How awful to be in command and unable to give yourself even a moment's happiness because of regulations.

How awful indeed.

If only things were different. She was the captain on this ship, yet that position of privilege gave her little reward. Or perhaps it was self denial. Even if she wasn't in command would she enter into a relationship with Chakotay? Honestly, she couldn't say.

The prospect of it filled her with such warmth and pleasure that it was as unreal as a dream, but with it came the fear. It was easy to hurt the ones you loved, and the thought of hurting Chakotay was just more pain that she couldn't bear. Not that she had spared him in the past. She could think of a handful of times when her command decisions had left them both stung. Being a couple would only make that harder. The boundaries would blur….

But she would be happy.

Kathryn stopped her train of thought, marvelling at where it took her. It must be the medication. Why else would she give in to her constant fantasies? She'd obviously lost her clarity of thought.

She didn't even allow herself to consider that the medication had brought focus to her musings, rather than stolen it away.

With a deep breath she announced her consciousness with a theatrical groan, feigning emersion into the waking world. To let Tom and B'Elanna know she had overheard them would only cause all around embarrassment.

Tom looked up at her and let go of B'Elanna's hand before grabbing a tricorder and checking her vital signs.

'Good morning, Captain,' he said cheerfully, his blue eyes alight with happiness and relief as he read the output of the device. 'Looks like you're getting better. I'll get the Doc.'

'That won't be necessary, Mr Paris,' the Doctor said calmly as he emerged from his office, hypospray in hand. 'However, please inform the commander that the captain is awake. I doubt he's followed my suggestion of heading to bed in any case, so you won't be disturbing him.'

Kathryn swallowed. 'Is he all right?' She tried to prop herself up on her elbow, but the pain ceased her movement effectively as the Doctor tutted.

'He's fine, as are the rest of the crew. There's been nothing but some mild injuries. Commander Chakotay requested to be told as soon as you awoke. It was the only way I could get him to leave Sickbay.'

There was no hint of suggestion in the Doctor's voice. He'd given up on that long ago. After all, he had seen any number of bedside vigils, and had been at the commander's side while they wrestled to save Kathryn's life in the past. Still, she couldn't help notice the sad smile on the hologram's face.

'And the ship?'

'It's still here.' B'Elanna coughed weakly but managed to sit up, much to the envy of her captain. 'It looks like my engineers have done as well as could be expected.' She leaned across and put a Padd by Kathryn's side. Deliberately she ignored the Doctor's protests and managed to raise it to eye level, scrolling down the lines of text quickly.

The smile came unbidden as she read the succinct sentences. There were even bullet points. She would recognise Chakotay's "reports to the captain" anywhere. He was so used to her bemoaning the length of the information that she got that he had begun to ignore Starfleet protocol. Instead he gave her the simplest breakdown possible. It made up for B'Elanna's novel-length updates on Engineering.

He'd worked hard, that much was blatant. She had never had any misconceptions about the toll Voyager would pay for confronting the Borg, but if nothing else her ship was space-worthy. Her smile widened slightly and she congratulated herself for the impulse she had felt all those years ago. Making Chakotay her first officer had been the best thing she could have done professionally, of that she had daily proof.

Absently she brushed a tendril of hair from her cheek and winced as her fingers scraped along the cool metal of the implants on her face. A stab of self-pity found its way to her heart, and she grimaced, knowing that she had no choice but to be seen like this: caught halfway between Borg and humanity.

She almost opened her mouth to tell the Doctor that she could see the commander when she was fully recovered, but the words caught in her throat. After all, hadn't B'Elanna said that he had been by her side until just recently? Obviously Chakotay wasn't as horrified by the metallic intrusions as she was.

Still, that didn't mean she had to look like a complete invalid.

The Doctor held out a hand, helping her gently into a half sitting position. 'You've still got some spinal clamps in place, Captain. Your motility is heavily reduced. If you try and move far on your own you'll just damage your recovering tissue.'

'Then you'll take them out.'

'In a few days, yes.'

'Not tomorrow?'

The Doctor rolled his eyes impatiently and picked up two pillows to cushion her fragile backbone. 'No, Captain. Please, I know you are used to commanding all that you survey, but in Sickbay it's my orders that matter. Most of the time, anyway.'

Kathryn pressed her lips into a grimace at the finality in the Doctor's voice, but didn't mention it again. She knew where she had to draw the line, and so did the Doctor. If they started overstepping that now it would be all out war, and she was hardly in fighting form.

'Is she being difficult?'

Kathryn's heart leapt at the sound of Chakotay's gentle voice, and smiled with happy relief when he walked further into Sickbay. His uniform was rumpled and his hair unkempt, but all she saw was his dimpled smile and dancing eyes. He was just as relieved to see her as she was to see him, and that was more of a balm to her pain than anything out of a hypospray.

'Just her usual self,' the Doctor said quietly, picking up his tray of implements and moving to B'Elanna's bedside. 'Some assistance, Mr Paris?'

Tom started slightly and gave the Doctor a blank look before coming to his senses. 'Oh, sure thing, Doc.'

It was hardly privacy, but it was close enough.

Chakotay sat in the chair at her side with a small sigh of relief, and Kathryn wondered when he had last slept. Between running the ship and keeping his vigil had he found even a moment to himself?

'How are you feeling?' he asked quietly, his dark gaze studying her intently as he leaned forward a little.

'I've felt better,' she admitted. 'What happened after we beamed back?'

Chakotay related the events of the past hours to her, taking care not to leave anything out. She listened intently, hearing the strain in his voice and feeling an echo of it herself. 'Thank you,' she said when he was finished, 'for taking care of Voyager.'

'I didn't do it alone,' Chakotay replied. 'The engineers did most of the work.'

'But you prioritised, and you made sure we could make it if the Borg pursued.'

'There's no sign of them. I think the Queen has enough of a problem ion her hands with the rebel drones.'

'Do you think it will be enough?'

Chakotay shrugged, unable to predict the future anymore than she could. 'Time will tell. It can't make things any easier for them. They're used to order and unity.' He stopped obviously not wanting to discuss the Borg anymore. He looked as though something was preying on his mind, and when he spoke again he was not her first officer, but her friend.

'Will you be all right?'

'I'll mend.' The reassurance was weak even to her own ears, and she reached up to trace the implant that curved her eye

'That's not what I meant.' Chakotay's voice was gently reprimanding, and Kathryn couldn't help but wince at his accuracy. His question was like an arrow fired straight at the target she had thought was hidden from view. He wasn't asking about her physical well-being, but that of her mind and emotional state.

Chakotay was never one to dodge the issue, and her own uncertainties plagued her. Would there ever be a slumber uninterrupted by the memory of those whispers? Could she go a day without looking over her shoulder, expecting a trans-warp conduit to bring cold and calculated vengeance in the form of a Borg armada?

'I don't know.'

Her voice was no more than a mournful whisper, and she knew that only Chakotay had heard it. When it came down to it he was the only one she let see her human side. Everyone else saw the captain every hour of every day. Mostly that was all Chakotay saw too, particularly over recent months, but sometimes she had to acknowledge that Kathryn was still there, and she was scared.

The warmth of skin on hers was like a shock, and she looked down at her hand in surprise. Chakotay's warm grasp surrounded hers, and her pale hand against the tan of his skin looked somehow fragile despite the silver trace of the implant.

His fingers caressed the border of machine and flesh absently, as though trying to acquaint himself with this change in his friend. There was no pain, only a warm, dancing tickle that thrilled and scared her all at once. Did he know what he did to her, even after all this time?

'It's not like you to admit that you're less than certain of something,' Chakotay said softly, his happiness fading to worry. With a pang she realised that there were more lines of concern than happiness etched in his face these days. What poor repayment she offered him.

She didn't answer, choosing instead to look unseeingly at the blanket. The Starfleet medical blue was fading in places, and the fabric was starting to look a little tired and old. Just like everything else on the ship.

'What are you thinking?'

She looked back at their joined hands, and scowled at the thin metallic veins that ran across her skin. The loathing she felt for the benign metal was intense, and for a split second she debated clawing them from her. This was the Borg's fault. They had made her feel weak, despondent, _inhuman_.

When she didn't reply he squeezed her hand softly, rubbing warmth back into her chilly fingers as she struggled to find the words to say. When none came she looked at him helplessly.

'You can't hide it from me, Kathryn, and you can't hide it from anyone else, either. Let us see what's wrong.'

'Let the crew see that their Captain is anything but strong? Chakotay -'

'Kathryn,' he interrupted, pulling his hand free and pressing a finger to her lips. It was a daring move, one that would have had anyone else thrown in the Brig, but she barely gave it a thought. 'They're not children looking up to an authority figure, they're people, and they understand that you're more than just a captain. You're their friend and they want you to be happy, whatever that takes. You just need to let someone in.'

She took a deep breath, trying to find some stability for her shaken composure. She hadn't noticed the Doctor and Tom depart into the office, or B'Elanna fall into a peacefully medicated slumber. Somehow their absence brought her a little peace. There was no need for any charade, not in front of Chakotay.

'What'll it take, Kathryn?' Chakotay asked, despair turning his soft voice harsh. 'Will anything ever make you admit you need someone?' When she didn't reply he shook his head to himself. His shoulders were slumped, and he bowed his head. 'Never mind. I'll take care of your ship, at least I can do that much.'

There was no bitterness in his words, only a profound disappointment, and she closed her eyes against the pain of his departure. The doors closed with a soft hiss, whispering the farewell that she could not speak.

Tension filled every muscle, shaking her frame and tearing at her composure. A tear escaped her lashes and she cuffed it away filled with hot shame. Starfleet captains did not cry, and neither did Kathryn Janeway.

He was right; she couldn't carry on like this. Perhaps before the encounter with the Borg she could have kept her chilly distance and made it home sane. Now she knew that, no matter how brief her time with the Borg, she needed to be surrounded by friends to recover. The Borg had relinquished a drone, but they hadn't released their hold on her individuality. As long as they lingered in her mind and the evidence of their presence bit her flesh then she would struggle.

Her father had said that to be strong you had to acknowledge your weaknesses. For once, she took his advice.

The hours wiled away under her introspection. She knew that she drifted fitfully in and out of sleep, but always the thoughts were chasing around in her head. Piece by piece she took apart her arguments. Now, this far into the journey, there was no strength to be found in keeping her distance from the crew. Without them there was no strength to be found in her.

The doors of sickbay opened hours later. At first she thought the pneumatic hiss had been part of her dream, but gradually she realised the sounds of Sickbay were real. Opening her eyes a fraction she watched as Chakotay leant against the bulkhead, looking down at his feet. His expression was pained and thoughtful, and she wondered what he was debating inside his mind. Was he trying to find a way to apologise for being so honest, or was he attempting to find a moment of peace?

'Chakotay?'

He looked up in surprise, his lips slightly parted. She could tell from the expression on hiss face that he had thought she was sleeping. His worry was still evident, and all signs of his earlier relief and happiness were gone. What work had occupied his time she didn't know, but she hoped that he had found a few hours of rest.

Kathryn licked her lips. Her heart was thundering a staccato beat in her chest as fear and hope warred against one another. Her thoughts had been tangled and desperate, but of one thing she was sure: Protocol was a battered shield, and it was time to let it go.

'I need you, Chakotay.'

For a moment he just stared at her, puzzled by her words. Slowly realisation dawned and his lips curved into a dimpled smile. The anxiety was chased away and, as frightened and exposed as she felt, she couldn't help but smile in return.

It was a small admission, fragile and inconsequential to anyone but the two of them.

'As your first officer?'

She swallowed tightly and shook her head, ignoring the pain the movement brought. 'As my friend,' She hesitated, feeling her mind whirl in panic and excitement. One voice, strong and defiant, over-ruled every concern. Damn protocol, 'and maybe more.'

She did not dare to meet his eyes. She was too late for such an ambitious hope, she knew, but if she left it unsaid then she would never be able to let it go.

The warmth of his hand on hers once surprised her, and she raised her head, forcing herself to find the courage to face the future whatever it held for her.

He was seated at her side again, and the expression on his face was finally one of peace.

'I'm here for you.'

And she knew the true taste of freedom.

End


End file.
